Reviewing my long week with Southwind Drum and Bugle Corps

Day 1, 7/18
This is the trip in review before I have forgotten. My journal, kept by hand, was spotty and incomplete.

Because I had no clue what I was in for, I'm going to begin here with that same mystery for my readers! What is a drum and bugle corps? Until last November, I didn't even know that they exist. I think it is a shame now that I didn't and that I've missed so many years, so much excitement and so many fine performances. Drum and Bugle Corps ought to be included as an Olympic event!

What I must say about the trip, in total, was that I have rarely come across such a fine group of hard working, self-sacrificing, goal oriented people. I would have to apply a great many superlatives in order to feel that I might have expressed all their qualities. Most especially, and I think this is rare in today’s world, I felt that each and every person involved, staff and kids, have found a sense of purpose for their lives in this strange competitive world that runs parallel to this ordinary world that most of us inhabit. It is so strange to say this, as later on in the trip I actually worried that the importance of items in the drum corps agenda take on a larger than life feel, an importance out of the natural order of things--an insanity caused by being so focused on the head of a pin! But keeping the real world in mind, the drum corps world is a wondrous place. So, I was taken aback, being somewhat of a religious nut, if you will, I had thought that the only place I would find this kind of devotion to an ideal would be in faith.

These kids have a dream! I say they are kids, but they range in age from 16 through 21 (maybe 15 through 22). And they are all exceptional, self-motivated and driven in a way that so few kids are--maybe two kids in a thousand. They are willing to suffer amazing deprivations, long hours on their feet in miserable weather conditions in the hope of winning (I have a story to tell about that later). At the same time, they are loyal to each other and to the corps, loyalty being a rare commodity in this world.

Of course these are generalities and sometimes what I have said above may seem like an overstatement–but when I stood a quarter of a mile from the football field late in the trip watching them practice beneath the broiling sun, which they did all day as the heat waves rose off the field, and I was profoundly touched. That shimmering image of more than a hundred young men and women, instruments glinting in the sun, at temperatures soaring over a hundred degrees came to symbolize all my admiration and to describe if only partly how great they all are. And, this goes too for all the adults who are committed to their success–who have made their own great sacrifice for this ideal they all share and for the love of music, for accomplishment of dreams, for belonging to something greater than the sum of its parts.

That all said, I’m just a mom–and could only observe and try to help what little I could. I felt very much like an outsider, an observer–like a fish in a fishbowl looking out at the greater world warped by my own confines. It seemed that every person I was with were long-term bugle corps devotees and most were alumni to either Southwind or another corps or to both. I was learning a new language, a new way of thinking, a new level of determination and a focus that was entirely on the corps, the kids and their dreams.

What probably didn’t work so well for me was that one thing that does define almost all of these good-hearted people is that they are competitive. I’m not sure that a non-competitive person fits in their filing cabinet. I went solely with the hope that I could be of help and that my health wouldn’t defeat me. The doctor had told me almost a month before that the trip would either kill me or make me stronger. Considering that Day 2 was twenty-one hours long and I felt that a good hard eight hour day would be my upper-limit, I was probably knocked out of the running for my zombie-like stare the first day.

I joined up with them in Fayetteville, Arkansas (that is Arkansaw for you Easterners). My husband drove me, my huge duffle and overstuffed shoulder-bag to the show–the very first Drum and Bugle Corps show that I had ever had the opportunity to see. I was entering a strange new world without having a clue about what was to come.

The day was hot! Sticky hot. The kind of hot day in Oklahoma when not even an air conditioner can make you feel cool. Naturally, we arrived early and parked in the stadium parking. Before the show was ready to begin we left the car and began walking in the vague direction of the parkinglot where the buses had been sighted. We finally located the set of buses and trucks that comprise Southwind's home on the road more than a quarter of a mile walk from where we'd started (it turned out to be the long way ‘round).

I did understand early on that they travel and sleep by night and spend almost every day in a new location. We found the caravan surrounded by a smattering of people as the kids were already mostly dressed and were warming up some way off. The first thing I checked was the cook trailer, by chance, but found it empty. We finally located somebody and I was told to find "James." I had no idea who James was or what he looked like, but the person who sent me in search of him seemed to think I should. And I thought Mike was the director! (He is, but James is the cook! So for cook staff, it would be obvious, wouldn't it?) So off I went hoping that somebody more motivated to get on their feet would help me in my search. Note that now I understand their reticence about putting their weight on their feet. And I also know now that James would not be easily found in his rare moment of freedom.

It took three tries to find somebody who had a clue where he might be before I finely located him. I found him back at the cook trailer standing on the ramp at the back. I'd come full circle. I introduced myself and felt immediately that I was a subscript in the script–a place I am unaccustomed to. Not that I'm complaining, but just describing the feeling. I was told that the corps would be leaving at 10:00 PM and I could bring my things after the show. I never expected the laid-back attitude. Regiments marched through my mind as I felt lost in the vagueness of the instructions!

After that non-plussed moment of introduction, my husband and I stopped for a while before returning to the stadium in order to watch the kids warm-up in a paved spot between two buildings. Initially the brass section was in a semi-circle and playing some part of the show–beautifully. The percussion section warms up separately and were out on a hill to the south, out of sight but, as I later realized, they are never out of hearing. The tattoo of drums is always in the background--even when the kids are supposedly at rest. The kids were wearing their white show shirts (an undergarment) and their jumper-like black trousers. A few other parents had gathered along a wall out-of-the-way to watch and we joined them. We sneaked to a spot and sat down as though we hoped the directors wouldn’t notice that we were sneaking a preview that we ought to pay for.

Ike managed to ignore us, as he should. He calls it "lock down." He keeps his eyes straight ahead and lets nothing distract him. I knew that! But I was thrilled. I secretly hoped that he saw us anyway.

It was the first sight I’d had of him since we’d left him in Kentucky at the end of May. I had heard from his older brother that he had grown, that his acne had cleared, that he was more mature. What I saw was the most beautiful kid in the whole world! Bronzed and blond by hours in the sun, strong from excessive exercise, a slight golden fuzz on his cheeks and glowing green eyes–I just felt so much pride in him. His jawline was more pronounced, his cheeks taught, childhood padding broiled away. And, yes, he had matured as it turned out, both visibly and emotionally a very different person in many ways.

(to be continued!)